The Past is Forever
by 13litz13last
Summary: SPOILERS. Jiraiya has died, but just because his physical form is gone, does not mean his soul doesn't live on. Where will he go? And what will he do when he arrives?


First fanfic concerning Jiraiya. I hope you enjoy, I liked writing it. Please review! I don't like when people favorite but don't review!

It was dark here. Jiraiya had never seen a place so dark, in all his years. It seemed to go on forever, without hinting at a sign of light or even an obtrusion. Maybe his eyes were closed? It didn't seem likely. Even when eyes are closed faint streaks of light would always seep through the lids.

He knew he was dead. It took a moment for him to realize it, but it was obvious. His descent into the depths of that pond, his throat caved in...there was no way he'd survived. Not even the great medic Tsunade could have saved him, and she wasn't even there anyway.

He'd never really thought of what he would do after death. He wasn't sure he even believed in an afterlife, and it wasn't something you really prepare for. Many people just expect they must get ready, get everything tied up, fulfill yourself, for when they die. Like that was the end. But there was another whole life after. Or was there? Where were all the other people, anyway? Jiraiya sighed and swung his head this way and that, as if something would appear from the darkness. Nothing.

He didn't know how long he stood there. There was no way to measure time. He didn't even breathe, it didn't matter. He didn't blink. He didn't feel, hear, smell, see, taste or anything. His legs didn't even tire. And when you can do none of these, how do you measure how long you've been doing nothing?

Finally, it was immediately obvious to Jiraiya--there was light. Not an immediate source, just a lightening of his surrounding. He could still see nothing, not an object or anything. Just...nothing.

Slowly, gradually, the air lightened until it was at a comfortable range, so it didn't force him to squint nor overwhelm him. There was still nothing. Just an infinite amount of whiteness. The ground was hard, but it didn't give off any texture that would betray its material. The sky had no limit as well.

Jiraiya, seeing he had nothing better to do, started walking off into the distance. A straight line--he had nowhere he needed to be.

"Hello? Is this...Jiraiya? Sorry, we've had a lot of...er...new arrivals lately, and it took me longer than usual to get to you...sorry...hold on..."

A voice had just erupted from the depths of God knows where and buzzed not inside his head but all around him. A figure stood beside him, suddenly. He didn't wear anything specific, just a nice suit; he looked like a forty-ish man with spectacles and a kind smile.

"Are you...er...God?" Jiraiya asked, laughing.

The man laughed as well. "Oh, no. No. I'm just one of his workers."

"An angel?"

"No. A worker."

Jiraiya left it at that. He didn't want to know. For, what if he was the Reaper himself? "What's your name?"

"Jared."

Weird-ass name, Jiraiya thought.

"Could you be an informant as well?" Jiraiya asked. "Where am I?"

Jared nodded. "Of course you'd want to know, Jiraiya."

Jiraiya didn't ask how he knew his name.

"You're in the after place. Everyone has their own." He smiled rather oddly.

"What do you mean by 'after place'?" Jiraiya questioned.

"It is whatever you want it to be," said the man.

Jiraiya nodded. "Ok. Great. I totally understand that." Heavy sarcasm. "But what do I _do_?"

Jared smiled and waved his hand most majestically. Four squares, infinitely flat, appeared before them. They buzzed, showing the image that a TV would present when it is reading mixed radio signals and malfunctioning.

Then they cleared. On the first came the image of Jiraiya as a baby, messy white hair fanning out in all directions. Crying; he was very young. Second was the picure of Sarutobi-sensei, dangling the missed bell above his pathetically young and weak self. Third was Orochimaru smirking at the disheveled and angry Jiraiya, as he planned to leave the village that day. Last, but not least, was the image of a smiling Naruto, laughing about how he'd spilled his ramen on Jiraiya's new novel from his favorite store. (Yes, that kind of store.)

"Jiraiya," said the man. "In this realm there is a collection of all your past experiences. Here, in this place where there are no others, you are free to relive your past. You are no longer a shinobi, my friend, you are allowed to feel whatever you wish yourself to feel and express it--there is no one here to see you."

The man vanished, but Jiraiya barely noticed. He staggered forward, hands out trying to steady himself, but he failed. He fell to his knees. Hesitantly, he waved his hand. Twenty more screens appeared, carrying the images of a young, middle-aged, and old Jiraiya, along with all his friends, family, and all the experiences he'd ever had in his entire life.

Jiraiya can still be found there today. And the next day. And the next. Days, weeks, months, years, decades, centuries, mellenia will go by and he won't waver his attentive eyes, watching his past come and go, come and go. Watch as his childish self made the same mistakes over and over and over again, as Orochimaru left over and over and over again, how he met Yahiko, Nagato and Konan over and over and over again, how his pupil Minato died over and over and over again, how Naruto slowly grew into who his father was, over, and over, and over again.

And he loved every second of it.


End file.
